six

I spent a year on a farm
Trying not to freak out
And holding food down

Breathing and
Remembering to breathe
Waiting for the phone to ring

The door to knock
Or bust down
But mostly smoking

Listening to records
Fixing on small
Corners and edges

Forgetting names for
Colors and light and
Contrast that’s distinct

From sullen irony and glances
And this week’s been a rainy one
And there’s a lot of great people

In town and lots of lightning bugs
Living with Chris old
Habits new routines and

WORDS

for Robert Creeley

The words are in the body
The body is in the mind
The big white cloud
Is in the sky

The stars are in the eye
There is a butterfly
On my finger

The heart is in the Bronx
There’s ‘nothing’ ‘in’ Delaware
The brain is not the mind
The future looks bright

The chance is in
The forefoot
The money’s under

The table
The suitcase is on
The mattress
Because nothing

Really mattress
The mistress
Has a mistress

The numbers
Don’t add up
The money talks
The belly breathes

The words are in
The mouth
The tongue

Tickles the pizza
But the heart
Stays alive
The finger

Is in the ear
And the other finger
Is in the other ear

Because the dragon
Is in the mote
And ‘emotion’
Is the caption

Beneath the mote
Beneath the caption
Below the words

Under the stars
That breathe in
A movie starring
An actress

From the
Twentieth century
Whose name escapes me

UP CLOSE

And the poets that has the best of everything
And the most that is a nothing better than a teaser
A scroll made of paper a gold shiny piece of paper
They shall walk by fries in summer by a jar of many ones
I got a picture of gum that’s special
Because it’s a piece of treasure